The Unknown Shore - Donald Malcolm, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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The Unknown Shore by
Donald Malcolm
CHAPTER ONE
As he made a final cut with the laser scalpel, Surgeon-Commander
Carlo Rangone noticed the aide to the Commandant of the Casualty
Transfer Station beckoning to him from the door. Rangone's brow
darkened. He brooked no interruptions during operations. However, he
supposed that it must be important. Giving instructions to Donlevy, the
surgeon aiding him, he strode toward the scrubbing room. The aide
followed him into the room and closed the door. Rangone did not like
Templeton, but being tolerant, he did his utmost not to show it. At best,
he was polite to the man.
If Templeton sensed the dislike, he covered it up well. Army training
colleges, such as New Sandhurst, were good at that sort of thing.
"I regret disturbing you at an operation sir, but Commandant Brandt
wishes to see you at once. It's very serious, I'm afraid. He will tell you
about it himself."
"Kindly inform the Commandant that I'll be along in two minutes,
Captain Templeton." He finished scrubbing off and dried his hands.
Hanging up the towel neatly, he shrugged out of his gown as Templeton
left.
Before going to Brandt's office, he looked into the operating theater and
received a thumbs-up signal from his assistant. The case had been a
particularly nasty one. The injured man was a scout pilot, and he'd been
badly shot up off the fourth planet of Canopus. It was a miracle that the
Enemy had left his ship intact enough to let him limp away. Normally,
 they showed no mercy.
Fortunately, the wounded scout had been picked up in time and
brought to the Casualty Transfer Station, located on the satellite of a dead
planet. The next move would be to send him to one of the hospitals nearer
to Earth, where he would get regeneration treatment to restore his
missing left limbs. Everything was arranged. The pilot would go out with
some other casualties, all thankful that, for them, the war was over.
Rangone's long stride carried him along the green-tiled corridors. As he
saluted—Brandt liked discipline—he noted the others in the room.
Templeton was there, of course, hovering beside Brandt's desk in a
manner that barely missed being obsequious. Laura McDonald, his strong
right arm, was there too, stiff as her dazzling white starched apron. He
sensed at once the worry in her clear gray eyes and in the set of her mouth.
Templeton was flanked by handsome Marine Major Essenden, the
commander of the station's military force. Better than anyone, he knew
just how token that force was, and the knowledge irked him. Rangone
didn't know for certain, but there had been rumors about his cowardice in
the face of the Enemy during an assault on Canopus One. Normally,
Essenden would have been returned home for court-martial, but the
desperate situation demanded the services of every man. He'd been sent to
the Station, and the man he replaced went to the front. The exchange had
been fatal for the replacement military commander. He'd been killed the
day after his transfer, and that had not endeared Essenden to the rest of
the personnel. Laura, especially, was very hard on him. Essenden's gaze
met Rangone's and slid away.
"I add my apologies to Templeton's for disturbing you during an
operation, Commander," Brandt said, drawing his attention. "However,
the situation is serious in the extreme."
He indicated a message form, the only thing on his desk except for a
communicator, a note-pad, and a pencil.
"We are going to have to evacuate this station."
Rangone knew better than to interrupt, so he let Brandt go on.
"Canopus Four has just fallen and our forces have sustained severe
losses: We'll lose the entire Canopus system, and the Enemy will then be in
 a position to execute a pincer movement on this system. As a
non-combatant unit, we have been ordered to get out as soon as possible."
"When are the relief ships coming?"
Brandt's blue eyes regarded him unblinkingly; suddenly the only sound
in the room was the tiny metallic chucklings of the air-conditioning unit.
Rangone felt his heart constrict. As a surgeon, empathy was his business.
"There will be no ships, Commander. We will have to rely on the one we
have. I can see by your expression that the implications of this have not
escaped you. We are here to decide on a course of action. Templeton will
outline the alternatives."
The aide cleared his throat and said, "We have, as Commandant Brandt
told you, only one ship. Fortunately, it's a hospital ship with a full
complement of equipment and refrigeration tanks."
Thank heaven for that
, Rangone thought, listening attentively. He was
already ahead of Templeton, but it was just, as well to let the man finish.
Brandt preferred to have things done in an orderly manner. Rangone was
reminded of a story he had read about a shipwreck. The ship's orchestra
continued to play even as the vessel sank beneath the waves. Brandt would
have understood and applauded.
"The capacity of the ship is 75 active personnel. At present we have 194
people at the station, including 65 patients."
All the patients, Rangone knew, were recovering from surgery that
couldn't be delayed until they reached hospital well behind the lines. There
were practically no walking wounded. To all intents and purposes, the
patients were helpless. He knew what Templeton was going to say next
and he didn't like it one bit.
"We have two alternatives. One: a selection can be made and the most
seriously wounded left behind."
"No!"
Brandt glanced disapprovingly at Laura, but he refrained from saying
anything. He knew how much she cared for her patients and made
allowances for that. They were longtime friends as well, but that didn't
 enter into matters of discipline.
She looked unwaveringly at Rangone as she spoke, seeking the comfort
and support she would find in his eyes.
"These people have a right to live, no matter how slender the chance is.
They have to be given it."
She, too, had inferred the nature of the second alternative.
Templeton maintained his unruffled calm.
"Two: by using laser surgery, Commander Rangone and his assistant,
Major Donlevy, can remove the arms and legs of some of the patients, the
number to be determined by the Commandant. This will allow the storage
of the living trunks in the refrigeration tanks and enable everyone to be
evacuated. At one of the home hospitals, regeneration can be undertaken
using the serum."
"Commander?"
"I agree with Laura. Everyone has the right to have a chance to live.
There are still hits and misses in the regenerative process. We still get
such results as short arms or legs, hands with no fingers, or five thumbs.
But medical science is progressing daily and I think the chance must be
taken. An improved serum has been in use for some months now and it
has cut down the failure rate. Provided basic clinical conditions are
available, it can be used anywhere, including the battlefront. We can't
abandon anyone to the Enemy—or painlessly dispose of them. May I
suggest, Commandant, that the position be explained to those patients
able to understand."
Brandt shook his head. "I regret, Commander, that immediate action is
imperative. There is no time for discussion. I must make the decision.
This is perhaps the greatest burden of being in command. I can only hope
that I will do the right thing and that they will understand, if anything
goes wrong."
Brandt was right, of course. Ten times a day, he, Rangone, made
decisions affecting individual lives. To cut or not to cut. This was just
another decision, only on a much larger scale.
 "I'll begin at once," Rangone said, feeling twice as old as his thirty-eight
years. "Where is the ship?"
"Bay Number One," Templeton replied. "I'll go and check that
everything is in readiness. There was a fault on the conveyor belt from the
departure room to the tanks but it's been repaired. I'll stay in the ship and
supervise the stowing of the patients. You can reach me at Extension
Nine, Commander."
He saluted Brandt, managing to include Rangone in the gesture, picked
up a clipboard, and went out. Rangone found himself admiring the aide, if
not actively liking him. Efficiency was something Rangone understood.
The times immediately ahead were going to be difficult, and he was
relieved to know that he had someone at the ship to rely on. He and
Donlevy would have enough to do in the theater. Laura would also be
extremely valuable in soothing any worried patient; there would certainly
be many for her to handle. He'd have to detail someone to help Templeton
at the ship. He could assign Barbara, the senior nurse.
He and Barbara had been flirting tentatively since his arrival eleven
months previously. He felt himself warming all over as he thought of her
beautiful, dark, slanting eyes, her flawless skin, and superb figure. She was
of old Earth stock, Eurasian, the daughter of a British father and a
Chinese mother. Her home, once called Hong Kong, had reverted to China
over 150 years ago, in 1999. It had been destroyed in an earthquake just
after she was born, 24 years ago. Her family had left Earth for the large
Chinese colony on Vega Seven.
"There is one other thing, Commander, that you have no doubt
considered."
Rangone gave his attention back to Brandt. "Sir?"
"There are 129 people on the station who aren't patients: medical,
military, administration, catering, and welfare personnel. Some of those
people will have to go into refrigeration. Templeton has compiled a list."
He handed a copy to Rangone who scrutinized it. He was about to
comment when Major Essenden said: "The military personnel will have to
be excluded, of course, sir."
Brandt stood to his full height of six feet, two inches, dwarfing the
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